


Speaker for the Dead

by MrsHamill



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Off-screen Relationship(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family; but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything. (Willa Cather)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speaker for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Synecdochic for reasons which will become clear as you read -- thank you SO much for allowing me to play in your sandbox, my dear! Story title shamelessly lifted without permission from Orson Scott Card. Linaerys not only beta'd this story, she made it immeasurably better and I can't thank her enough. Camille pretty much did the same, as well as the Saturday Night Constrict Crew (you KNOW who you are) who made me change some stuff about Carson.

John never got around to naming P3X-203, something others might find amusing or even ironic. When it had been rediscovered by the Atlantis team, any indigenous people were long gone, culled, extinct. The only points of interest were some ruins -- a small Ancient city or outpost, so old it was difficult to tell -- sitting between a scrub wasteland and a forest inhabited by hardy, huge, enormously ancient trees. There wasn't much left besides broken down walls and a few underground chambers, but John found a way to live which included it on the outskirts of his domain. 

His home had no electricity. When he'd decided on a place to live, the Athosians helped him build it and agreed that once a year or so, they would visit him. They would bring him candles and soap and oil and other things, such as blankets and clothing, he was unable to make for himself. They would also bring him the names of those who had made the final journey, to add to the roll he already carried in his head. It would become his purpose in life, to remember. He was pleased to think he actually had a purpose; it kept him from dwelling on the past.

He lived partially underground -- there was a step down to get into his main room from the front door. He used Ancient tech to get water to his home for drinking, cooking, bathing; to water his small garden; for sewage removal (indoor plumbing was the one thing he wouldn't compromise on). Everything else was low-tech or he did without, except for one small clock, running on a naquadah power source that would still work even after the planet's sun burned out. It showed the current date and year on Earth and on Atlantis (running from the moment the expedition arrived). He didn't need to keep track of the date and year on P3X-203, the last home he would ever have. He went by the seasons.

Once, just after he'd settled in, he caught himself trying to figure a conversion scale between his present location and Earth, using Atlantis as a Rosetta stone. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he angrily began to rip the paper so he could burn it, but stopped in mid-tear. A voice in his head asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, told him there was nothing wrong with numbers, and, in a bitingly sarcastic tone, asked him what the poor equations had ever done to him. It was the same voice that kept him from burning _War and Peace_ , though John still couldn't finish it. He was less than a hundred pages from the end, more than seven years since he'd begun it, but couldn't bear to find out what happened. He was afraid he'd already lived it.

The equations stayed unburned, even though John put them aside and didn't look at them.

He brought a lot of things with him from Atlantis, and could have brought weapons too, but didn't. There wasn't any real need for them now that the Wraith were gone, so why carry and care for something he wouldn't use? What little meat he ate was generally a medium-sized, burrowing herbivore a bit larger than a Texas jackrabbit, and he could trap those. He tried to get them before they could eat his garden and they tried to avoid his traps. It became an uneasy truce where a grudging respect grew on both sides. 

During his first winter (which started a month after he'd arrived), vicious storms kept him trapped inside his three-room home for more than two weeks. During that time, he allowed himself to go a little mad after drinking an entire bottle of Athosian wine. He'd screamed back at the wind, had cursed the darkness and Atlantis and every living thing in the universe in a voice which had became rough and raw from volume. He felt incredibly ashamed after his outburst, and took steps to keep it from happening again. From that point on, he resolved to never ask for or take alcohol, just in case.

The only visitors he got were those specifically looking for him. The stargate was close to a hundred miles away and partially buried; it was difficult (but not impossible) to bring a jumper through. Pack animals could do it easily, though. Travel was much freer without the weight of the Wraith hanging over everyone's head.

It took Elizabeth almost seven months to find him -- she must not have been looking very hard. By then, he'd settled in and was putting in his first crop, sown with seeds provided by the Athosians. He was out in the garden when he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. He stood, brushed his hands on his pants and walked around to the front of the house -- it was time for a water break anyway. By then, she had stopped the vehicle (a small, open Jeep-like affair, perfect for going over the sand and scrublands) and was looking around with wide eyes. He sat on the bench in front of his home and waited for her, mildly surprised to find her alone.

She wasted no time with preliminaries and troubled him with no recriminations or sobbing relief, and for that, he silently thanked her. They knew each other too well for pretense. She started out speaking to him quietly, calmly, asking him why he had left and requesting he return. The city needed him, she said. 

"No it doesn't," he replied. He poured more water from the large pitcher into his big, earthenware Athosian mug Teyla had given him years ago for his coffee. He loved that mug, even though he only drank water and tea from it now. "Would you like some?"

Blinking, she frowned then shook her head. "I've got a canteen, thanks. John, what are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replied.

"Hiding." Well, perhaps _some_ recriminations.

He frowned and nodded into the distance. "Maybe a bit. Though I'm not really trying very hard, you know. You could have found me before this if you'd wanted to."

She pursed her lips into a thin line and he realized she looked older. There was silver in her hair, now, and lines on her face that hadn't there the last time he'd seen her. Or perhaps they had been, but he hadn't noticed. "I had other things to occupy my time than coming to look for you."

He nodded. "You'll keep control of Atlantis, Elizabeth. If anyone can, you can."

"There's nothing left to Atlantis, not since you left. Sometimes it feels like the city's mourning too -- nothing responds like it should, even with the new ZPMs. If you came back, it would be so much easier, we could..."

"No." Atlantis _was_ mourning, John was certain of it, but only for John's absence. And John would do nothing to end that mourning -- he could be that vindictive. 

But Elizabeth didn't really want his help; she just wanted company against the nightmares. John had long since reconciled himself to those. He didn't sleep very well or even much, any more; he kept waking to the noise of radio silence, hearing in his head the hiss of the universal background noise.

"Why, John? Why didn't you stay? I needed... we all needed you."

Without answering, John finished his water, rose, stretched a bit, and then ambled back around the side of the house to the garden. There was still work to be done; he couldn't risk losing some of his crop because he was being annoyed by someone who, of all the people in the entire universe, should get it and didn't.

No, she hadn't seen much, they'd been almost obsessively discreet, unwilling to put her (their boss, their friend) into an awkward position. By necessity, they were together only rarely -- off-world, on missions, on vacation, even running from the Wraith -- because Atlantis was a jealous lover and the SGC a stern patriarch. Elizabeth had to have known. Many others less observant than her had.

(Though their time together was stolen, John worked hard to convince himself it had been better than nothing, and the familiar voice in the back of his head always agreed. Worth it or not, he was well aware that beneath his conscious thought there were vast seas of unconscious regrets. He preferred not to think of them.)

Elizabeth didn't stay, but she came back two days later. During that visit, she tried anger and shouting. He ignored that as much as the softly spoken questions and pleas. He was reasonably certain they wouldn't try to kidnap him, but he made sure to take precautions just in case they did. No one -- no one alive, at any rate -- knew Ancient tech the way he did. He'd be able to disappear if necessary.

On her third visit, a week later, she tried clumsy (but evidently heartfelt) flirting and seduction. John remained silent and walked, worked around her, as if she weren't there, until she left in humiliation. She'd be back, though, John knew. You could say many things about Elizabeth Weir's character, but stubbornness ran so deep in her it was like an ocean. She didn't give up easily. 

Even when she should.

Ronon, unlike Elizabeth, seemed to understand his self-imposed exile. He was the next to visit, a few weeks after Elizabeth's last, disastrous trip. John thought he'd probably been sent by her, especially since he was driving the same kind of Jeep thing she had. He didn't bother to ask, though, seeing no need. If Ronon wanted to tell him, he would. If he didn't, there was no amount of asking in the universe that would make him talk.

He'd forgotten how soothing Ronon's presence could be. They sat on the bench and looked at the sky, talking about worlds they'd seen or strange things Terrans did. Ronon sparred with him, saying he needed to make sure John was maintaining his skills, not getting soft. John appreciated the sentiment and asked Ronon to stay for dinner, even to stay the night, should he wish to. 

Ronon obviously thought about it, but finally turned John down. "My people have decided to settle on Elanis and I'm going with them. I should get back."

"Elanis?" John frowned. "Oh! The tower one. We haven't been back there since... God, I don't know. Three years?"

"They're doing okay. They invited us, really. They need help putting the planet back together."

John nodded. "Good."

"You can come visit, if you want. Give us a year or two."

John nodded again. "Thanks." He hoped Ronon knew 'thanks' meant 'no.' John wouldn't be going through a stargate ever again.

Before Ronon left, he gave John the rundown on what had been happening in Atlantis, filtered through Ronon's perceptions. "They want Weir to leave," he said, his voice disgusted. "Said they wanted to bring her up on charges for a lot of what happened."

"I think they could try," John said. "And I think they'd be stupid."

"Yeah. Even I don't think they've got any hope. But, you know, your military's run by a bunch of weirdos. They're just asking for trouble if they try to take over. She'd have them for lunch."

John had to laugh, both at Ronon's totally Earth words and at the image they inspired. "Well, it'd be fun to watch. We could sell tickets. And candy and popcorn."

Ronon nodded, his lips twitching. "Easy money," he agreed. "I don't think you'll be seeing her again this year, though."

By the time the sun began to set, Ronon was off again. He gave John a tight bear-hug which made John's eyes tear up for some reason. They said no more words, because there were no more words to say.

* * *

The Athosians came back just before the end of his first year, led by Halling. They brought him provisions to supplement his home-grown fruits and vegetables and news, as well as names to be added to the roll. He memorized the new additions and knew they wouldn't leave until he was able to recite the complete list again. He also knew that every year, names would be added, both Athosian and Terran, and he worried that one day he might not be able to remember all of them.

They camped out in front of John's house for three days. He and Halling went for long walks amid the Ancient ruins and listened to the wind moaning through the empty alleyways. Halling was limping slightly and told John he had developed the joint disease -- arthritis, John inferred.

"Do you feel lonely here, John Sheppard?" Halling asked one evening as they returned to the house.

John didn't even have to think about his answer. "Yes."

Halling nodded. "I thought as much. You must not, though, for you are surrounded by the ones who have gone on ahead." 

John would never get over how _tall_ Halling was, close to six inches taller than John. "It doesn't feel like that to me," he muttered. Halling followed him into the house.

"You have not learned to listen," Halling said. He and John sat, each with a cup of tea. "Those of us who have gone on before are still here, and will always be here in our hearts, in our heads," he added, after a few moments. "To know the time and location of one's death is a rare, precious thing, and means the one who has gone on can lead those he left behind." Halling sighed. "It has been a long, long time since we have had an official keeper of the roll. It is fitting we should store it in you, that we should re-start it from the time the Earthers came to Athos. We are all one tribe now, your people here and mine."

John drained his cup but didn't answer.

Outside, the sun had set. The Athosians had put together a large bonfire centered in a ring of large, white stones and were bringing out instruments -- John could hear them being tuned as he sat in his house. "Come," Halling said, rising and gesturing to John. "We have created sacred ground and will sing them beyond the river. We need to assure them the battle has been won and they are free."

John followed him outside, dry-eyed. The woman who sang looked nothing like Teyla Emmagan.

* * *

His second winter wasn't as harsh as his first, or perhaps he was becoming used to having actual seasons again. Near the end of it, but still a good month before planting would be possible, a bad storm brought down one of the huge trees on the other side of his house from the ruins. The titanic crash woke John from his usual fitful sleep; for a moment, he was convinced he was back on Atlantis, waiting for a Wraith attack, and he automatically reached for a warm body that wasn't there. 

In the morning, he went to investigate. The great trees reminded him of redwoods, though their foliage more closely resembled the cedars of Lebanon, something he'd seen and admired. (There were some benefits to being in the military and travel was one. But he'd never had guessed he would be traveling quite so far away during his career.)

The old grandfather that had fallen was nearly as broad as his house at its base and could have dated from the time of the Ancients. Something had eaten through the lower part of the tree, some kind of disease -- the upper reaches of it were nearly dry with very little sap or greenery. Still, sick as it obviously had been, the tree was beautiful and its passing filled him with sorrow. He felt far more reverence for it than he felt for ancient, semi-sentient Atlantis. Atlantis had been _made_ and her every piece reminded him of that. The tree, which might have been seeded hundreds of years ago wasn't nearly so old but it was, it had been, alive as Atlantis would never be. Birds and other animals had sheltered in it. It had provided food and left its dead leaves behind as fertilizer for other plants. Unlike Atlantis, the tree had not been selfish with its favors and even in death, would give of itself.

(When John was young, his favorite author was Shel Silverstein. He remembered reading _The Giving Tree_ and even before he understood the themes in it, felt the sadness of it. In college, he'd come across the book again and was surprised to find himself nearly crying as he read it, not quite knowing why. He'd always intended to get another copy of that book to bring to Atlantis and never had.)

John spent most of that day there, pacing around the tree, measuring in his head, testing the wood for dryness and weight. The next day, he returned with the axe he used for cutting firewood when necessary. 

He couldn't count on firewood since so much of the planet was scrub or desert -- there was only one small ocean on it. Normally he used peat for his fire, left over from a mire about two miles from his home. The Athosians had shown him how to cut peat, had helped him build a sled to bring it to his house, and helped him learn how to build fires with it. It was heavier than wood, but longer lasting and he didn't need so much of it for the winters.

Over the course of the month, he chopped and split at the upper part of the tree until he had a barrel section cut out of healthy wood near the top. Getting it on his sled nearly killed him, but that was nothing compared to dragging it back to his house.

By the time spring reluctantly crept back, he had the wood positioned in the lee of his house and was beginning to cut it, or at least trying to cut it, into the size he needed. His axe was hardly up to the challenge, especially after cutting the top section out. He hoped the Athosians would be able to help him when they came with his harvest.

He covered what remained of his blank paper with plans and ideas on how to do what he wanted -- to create a big table for himself, along with a few chairs. Now that Elizabeth had found him, he had a feeling he'd be receiving more visitors than just the Athosians. And besides, he was getting tired of using the small end table he'd brought from Atlantis as his only flat surface. 

Elizabeth showed up again before he'd had a chance to really get started. He came around the house to find her climbing from her vehicle and staring at the wood.

"Do I even want to know?" she asked, a remnant of her old humor shining through the worry.

He shrugged. "One of the giant trees came down a few months ago. This is from the very top of it."

She blinked. "The _top_?"

He raised an eyebrow. "They're pretty big, Elizabeth."

"I guess so!"

Gesturing to his bench, he sat with her. "Water?"

She gave him a brief smile as she shook her head. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm fine." He used taking a drink to avoid looking in her face. He hoped she could allow her last visit to be forgotten. "So, what's happening on the home front?"

And like that, they were good. Elizabeth complained bitterly about the new administration and SGC, which had become far more political and hide-bound since the death of General O'Neill. Jackson and Mitchell were doing their best, but it wasn't enough. SGC wouldn't put Caldwell in as military head of Atlantis, instead gave the job to a colonel, a political appointee, whom everyone hated, including Elizabeth. John made the appropriate sympathetic noises and found himself surprised to be so pleased about avoiding the whole mess.

Elizabeth also passed on some news and gossip about old friends. "Ronon's gone, you knew that," she said, and John nodded. "He took a few of the old guard with him, actually. Lorne went, and a few of the scientists."

Mildly pleased, John poured himself more water. "Good for him. Them."

"Radek is still head of science, but he's fighting a losing battle. SGC wants still more weapons than anyone -- especially Radek -- wants to give them." She sighed. "Recall is inevitable and I already see more defections being planned. Sometimes, I wish I..." She trailed off and sighed again, remaining silent for so long John glanced at her in concern. 

Before he could speak, she continued. "Carson... he quit. He's back on Earth." Her voice was soft and filled with regret and pain. "SGC tried to make him stay but between his breakdown and his mother's death, he just couldn't face it, I think. The pain... It must be overwhelming to him." She pinched the bridge of her nose and her lower lip was quivering. "I think he tried to commit suicide, but couldn't bring himself to do it. I...I wish I knew what to do to help him."

John nodded slowly but stayed silent. He knew about pain. He knew how it felt to carry the weight of genocide on your back. Carson carried more of that guilt than any of them, more even than John, who had killed so many he'd lost count, or Elizabeth, who had ordered the killings.

(Forgiveness was a topic John had dwelled upon frequently. He'd found getting it was easy as long as it didn't come from within. He could easily forgive others of even heinous crimes, but not himself for deeds far less serious. Teyla had asked him twice to forgive her. The first time she had been about to sacrifice John's body for the greater good and he knew he would have done the same in her place. The second time she had asked it was for failing to protect his heart. John gave her his pardon easily, for he knew it had hardly been her fault; Atlantis bore that burden. Atlantis for causing it and John for failing to stop it in time.)

"Radek asked me to ask you if he could visit," Elizabeth said.

John snorted. "Tell him you don't ask to visit Grand Central Station and that my door is always open to family."

Elizabeth had the grace to look abashed. "I know you'd rather be alone--"

"I've never said that," John interrupted her. His voice sounded harsh so he consciously softened it. "You don't see me turning you, Ronon, or the Athosians away, do you?"

"Then why?" There was nothing but honest confusion in her face and all John felt was disgust. 

"Elizabeth, you know why, or you should. I shouldn't be the one to have to enlighten you."

"It wasn't your fault that the city sacrificed--"

John got to his feet, interrupting her. "I have garden work to do. Excuse me."

Elizabeth didn't follow him. A few minutes later, he heard her vehicle leave.

* * *

Radek visited next, confirming John's suspicions that he wouldn't be alone much after Elizabeth found him. John wasn't sure what to expect, so seeing Radek alone was a relief. By the time John walked  around the house, Radek was standing next to the vehicle, looking around curiously.

The years hadn't been good to any of them, but Radek showed it far more. However, when he saw John, some of the weight on his shoulders seemed to ease. 

"John." They stood and stared at each other until John managed to move.

"Radek." What started as a handshake turned into a strong hug, apparently surprising Radek as much as John. 

"I have missed you, my friend."

John broke away before he could embarrass himself. "It's been a while," he agreed, his voice thick. "Come on, sit. I've only got water, but it's cold." They sat on the bench and Radek took a cup of water. 

John was afraid it was going to be awkward, but to his surprise, it wasn't at all. "This is a good place you have made," Radek said after emptying the cup John gave him. "The Athosians helped you, yes?"

"Yeah. Halling has been great. They gave me a lot of stuff... come on inside. It's a bit cooler."

Radek looked around John's house, nodding his approval. "Very comfortable. Is that a water pump?"

John nodded. "Aquifer, right underneath. I think it's why the Ancients built here. I stole the pump from the ruins. Eventually I'd like to get some kind of metal stove installed, instead of the fireplace. I lose a lot of heat in the winter and cooking things is an adventure all in itself."

"Yes, that would be more efficient. No electricity?"

"No, the Athosians bring me candles and stuff. I've got a root cellar over here..."

John showed off his home with a pride that surprised him. Radek seemed genuinely interested in everything, poking his nose into every nook and cranny, approving and making suggestions for further improvement. "Elizabeth told me about the large piece of wood outside," Radek finally said, looking out one of the deeply-set windows.

"Yeah," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I want to make a table from it, but I think I've might have bit off a bit more than I can chew."

Radek laughed. "That wood could make fifty tables, each for a palace! Let me show you what I've brought for you."

They went outside and from the back of the vehicle, Radek pulled out a strange contraption. It looked like two metal handles stuck together. "This is a saw," he said. He pulled the two handles apart slightly. "You can't see it, but there's a carbon monofilament line between the two handles. It's about five molecules thick, more or less, and cuts through everything. Come see."

Under Radek's direction, they stood on either side of the barrel of wood, each holding one handle. It was surprisingly difficult to pull the handles apart -- they wanted to snap together. 

"Where do you want to cut?"

"About here," John replied, indicating a spot about a foot from one end.

"Press down hard and move back and forth. Do not touch anywhere but on the handle." 

John mimicked Radek's movements and watched in surprise as the invisible line cut through the wood like a hot knife through butter. In a few minutes, a ten inch thick slice of wood fell to the ground with a rattling thump.

"Cool!" John said with a grin. "I figured it was going to take me a year to do that!"

Radek carefully put the two handles together again. His grin was as wide as John's. "It must be used by two people and is very, very dangerous, but I thought it would come in handy for you, when I am here or others. More pieces should we cut, yes?"

Radek had also brought a large box of tools, all of which were hand-powered. John accepted them gratefully. "I still don't know what I'm doing," he said, and Radek laughed again.

"You'll figure it out," he replied. "There is little you can't do once you put your mind to it."

John shared his dinner with Radek, who'd brought more things with him. Books -- mostly textbooks but a few novels as well -- and food too. No coffee.

"I see why you need proper table," Radek said as he balanced his plate on his knee. He was still smiling and it made some of the worry lines on his face disappear.

"Well, yeah. Especially as people keep showing up on my doorstep," John replied, rolling his eyes.

Radek merely nodded, finishing his stew. "Take your time," he said. "Made things should be made _right_. That wood is beautiful. Anything you make from it should be beautiful too."

John nodded; Radek had a point. "It's going to take a while, but yeah. I'm going to do my best. At least I've got plenty of wood left if I screw up."

It was growing dark, though the sun wouldn't set completely for another hour or two. "You're welcome to stay the night," John said, indicating his 'bedroom' alcove, where his pallet lay. "Maybe I'll build a bed frame too," he mused.

"I cannot." Radek sounded genuinely regretful. "Too many things are going on. Many of us are preparing to defect to other planets in Pegasus," he added, then sighed. "You showed us it could be done, so we have been thinking about it. SGC is not happy with us, of course, but we are not happy with them, either."

He put his plate and cup on the floor at his feet and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I have tried to explain to Elizabeth, tried to make her understand. I don't know if she is being willfully blind or if she merely wants to avoid the truth."

John sighed too; he'd been hoping to avoid that conversation. But at least Radek understood. Radek had been there with John -- trying frantically to reverse the protocol Atlantis had started by herself, listening to friends and loved ones screaming as the Wraith attacked, as Atlantis decided to defend and sacrifice a part of herself, vaporizing it and a good chunk of John's soul along with it. Radek remembered, just as John did.

John stood, retrieved their dishes and carried them to his sink. His primitive boiler gave him hot water, but he had to be careful with how much he used if he wanted to wash himself that evening. He leaned on the sink and looked out the window to his garden. "I don't know either," he said. "She's a diplomat. She's always been about the greater good. You know, the old Star Trek thing -- the needs of the many will always be put ahead of the needs of the one." Or the two, he mentally added.

"Yes. But she's not stupid."

"No. She's not."

They both sighed again then Radek turned. "I must be getting back. It's late night in Atlantis and I have much to do in the morning."

John followed him out to the vehicle. "Come again," he said, hoping Radek understood he was saying thank you as well. He squeezed Radek's shoulder. "Your escape hatch is always open."

"Thank you. _Být dobře má druh_ ," Radek said, and John didn't need a translation to know Radek had wished him well.

Radek was good company, even if he did raise memories John would have preferred to stay down. Like Ronon, Radek understood John's self-imposed exile and never said a word about his returning. John watched him until the car was out of sight.

* * *

About a month later, Elizabeth returned. She brought more tools, more paper and a flat of strawberries -- an obvious peace offering. She looked at the table John was slowly, laboriously building and made approving noises.

"It's going to be beautiful," she said, running her hands along a finished edge. 

"If I ever finish it," John replied. Radek's gifts (especially the textbooks on woodworking) had helped, but it was slow going. John had been planing it all day and was really beginning to get into the feel of the wood and what he wanted to do with it. As Radek had advised him, he was taking his time, trying to make everything he did on it important and it seemed to be paying off in spades -- the table, once complete, would be a thing of beauty. John was beginning to wonder what he would do with himself once it was done.

"You will. Once you set your mind on something, I don't think you could fail if you tried."

John frowned at her, but she wasn't looking at him, just at the wood. "Don't you miss it at all?" she asked softly, her voice plaintive.

John swallowed hard. "Yes." Every single day. Almost as much as he missed flying.

(John never talked -- with anyone -- about how cool and frightening it felt for him to interact with Atlantis and how she interacted with him. He never talked about how she felt alive to him, sentient,  responsive and demanding and as selfish as a child. She wanted him all to herself, he could feel it. She tolerated other people, those who could use her to far better effect than John, but John was her golden boy, her star quarterback.) 

(Before he left, he sat in the control chair one last time, looking for a reason _why_ , and all he felt was the satisfaction of a woman having disposed of a rival. He let his disgust and his fury and his agony bleed into the link, hoping to give her some punishment, some measure of his pain. But her only response was confusion, similar to the bewilderment Elizabeth evidently still felt over John's leaving.)

(Atlantis tried to sabotage his leaving, but by then, John knew Ancient tech better than anyone alive. He left and took his bitter satisfaction of knowing she'd never fully understand, never be anything but hurt/shocked/humiliated at his 'betrayal' of her. That Elizabeth felt the same was her problem, not  his.)

Still not looking at him, she said, "You once told me that football was a metaphor..."

"Not football, the Hail Mary play."

"Ah." She finally looked up at him and John felt a stabbing wrench at the pain he saw in her eyes. Radek must have finally gotten through, at least a little. "So, is this your Hail Mary? Is it a metaphor?"

John bit his lip, forced himself to keep looking in her eyes, almost willing her to understand. Atlantis might never understand but Elizabeth was -- had been -- a friend as well as a co-worker and a boss. A big part of him _wanted_ her to understand, needed her to understand. "You could say that," he finally whispered. It probably wasn't enough.

* * *

The Athosians returned with John's harvest. They brought more staples, paper and more writing instruments, and were quite excited about the wood and the table that was gradually taking shape. They helped John cut more pieces to make proper chairs and stayed far longer than they had in the past. Two of them in particular showed John some tips and tricks for working wood into intricate shapes and laughed at the bandages on his fingers that he wore like badges of honor.

Before winter set in, Radek came by with a beautifully crafted wood and peat burning stove. He stayed for two days, helped John install it and showed him how to use it. The table was nearly complete by then and John had started on the chairs. He'd spent days getting the table just right, level and even, and the look in Radek's eyes when he saw it was all the reward John needed. He felt like an honest to goodness craftsman and it felt good to be useful again.

During the winter, when he tired of building, he began to write. First, he documented everything he could remember about the last, disastrous campaign and the genocide of the Wraith in his precise, neat handwriting. It was agonizing but it felt like a catharsis. Once he was done, he debated keeping the pages or just burning them. That sarcastic voice in his head won and he set the pages aside for another time, though he wasn't sure if they would ever be read.

When he finished his history, he began to draw.

When he was young, he'd wanted to be an artist. Many of his teachers encouraged him to try, said they saw the seeds of greatness in him. But he had been seduced by flight and left his other talent to lie dormant.

By the spring, he had covered his home with pictures. Some were still-lifes, some were portraits from memory -- Carson, Grodin. Ford. He was quite proud of the one of Teyla, just her face, smiling. He thought he'd managed to capture the sense of mischief he often saw in her eyes.

Just before midsummer, the vehicle from Atlantis drove up to his house again. John had been practicing with the Athosian sticks in the shade of his house, but he put a shirt on in deference to the  visitor who he expected to be Elizabeth. He was right, it was Elizabeth, but he hadn't expected to see Stephen Caldwell with her.

Caldwell was in civvies and like Radek, appeared much older than he should have been. John nodded to him as he approached with Elizabeth. "Caldwell. Elizabeth." He'd long since lost any deference to Caldwell's rank; being kept together in the same tiny cell for over a week while being tortured tended to break down any social or political niceties. "I wasn't expecting visitors; you'll have to excuse the mess." There was no mess, of course. John didn't own enough things to make one, but it seemed at times that sarcasm had become his default mode. It made sense to an extent, since he had, after all, learned at the feet of a master of the art. 

Elizabeth looked around as if trying to confirm everything was the same, while Caldwell examined John and his home closely, as if searching for enemies. "So this is where you've gone."

"Home sweet home. Come inside, it's cooler."

"It is a bit hot and dry," Caldwell said blandly. It sounded almost like an assessment of John's character, not his planet. 

John smiled crookedly as he waved them in. He followed them only to find Elizabeth standing transfixed just inside the door, staring at the pictures. "John..." she whispered.

Caldwell was more direct, if as astonished. "Sheppard... you did these?"

John had forgotten that Elizabeth hadn't visited since the last summer. "No one else here," he replied shortly. He walked into his kitchen and pumped enough water into his jug for the three of them. "I've got tea and water to offer. Both are cold."

"Tea would be fine for us," Caldwell said after a glance at the still-transfixed Elizabeth.

So that's how it is, John thought with a mental eye-roll. He added a measure of the strong tea to the water in the pitcher and put it on the table with three cups. After he poured some for himself, he  sprawled on one of the chairs. Elizabeth was tracing the picture of Teyla, her finger hovering over the paper.

"This is..." She finally turned to John, who saw the tears in her eyes before she looked away.

"That looks just like her," Caldwell murmured. "You did this from memory." It wasn't a question so John didn't answer.

He let them go from picture to picture until they'd seen them all. Elizabeth turned to John then and blinked. "You finished the table!"

"Not much else to do here," he replied gruffly. He hadn't expected her reaction to the pictures and it bothered him, though he wasn't certain why. When Caldwell sat down, he gave John a very strange look.

"It's beautiful," Elizabeth said. She turned to Caldwell. "John made the furniture here."

"Well, some of it," John said blandly. "The Athosians gave me a lot and I took a few things from the city when I left. I'm not much of a craftsman but when you have nothing else but time..."

Caldwell was still looking around. He stared at John's Johnny Cash poster for a long time before turning back. "Most of the comforts of home, then?"

"All of them." John took a long sip of tea.

"So you're not planning on returning."

Elizabeth was still focused on the table, her hands and eyes tracing the grain of the wood. John had sanded and rubbed the wood until it shone, as smooth as mahogany but softer to touch. "No." John wondered if Caldwell could see the challenge in his eyes.

Caldwell apparently did, for he looked away first. "You're probably better off than the rest of us, then."

Elizabeth's head came up as Caldwell spoke and John could see -- could almost feel -- her surprise and displeasure.

"Things that bad?" he asked.

Grimacing, Caldwell said, "Worse." He took a sip of tea before continuing. "The SGC has its collective head up its collective ass. There's no point in continuing a war we're not going to win no matter what we do but they can't seem to back away from it. At this point, Earth will either be used up or destroyed before it's over."

"It's not that bad," said Elizabeth, frowning.

"Yes, it is," Caldwell said mildly. "Why do you think I'm resisting their recall? I took early retirement just to get away from that in-fighting." He turned back to John. "I left when they screwed Atlantis over after you left, but now they want me back again. They'd promise anything, my own ship, seventy-seven virgins... anything if I would come back and risk my life for them again. I'm not quite ready to die yet, though."

"Stephen, don't." Elizabeth said. "I've still got hope. I have to, after what we've been through."

Caldwell shook his head, but didn't speak.

"The SGC has gone public, John." Elizabeth's words made John sit up straight. "Not completely, but what we've found on Earth has been unclassified. The naquadah generators are now in use everywhere. SGC has even talked about the Asgard, in a roundabout way."

"Pre-empting the outcry should the Ori or the Goa'uld or any of the others ever get into the general population," Caldwell said sourly.

Elizabeth sighed. "I didn't come here to argue, Stephen. I came to tell John the good news." She turned back to John. "The Nobel Committee has awarded several prizes to many of the Atlantis scientists. Some of them... posthumously. I thought maybe you'd want--"

John interrupted her with a harsh laugh. " _Nobel_ prizes? That's a good one. They awarding prizes for dying horribly, now? I'm a galaxy and a half away from those idiots and that's too damn close." He shoved his chair back and stood. "I'm glad you're here, Caldwell. Feel like some manual labor before you go?"

Caldwell's face was bland as he looked first at Elizabeth, then at John. He stood. "Sure." John didn't miss the quelling look he gave Elizabeth but didn't look at her before walking out his door.

"Radek gave me a special type of saw but it takes two to use it," John said, getting the microfilament saw from the tool shed attached to his house. "I need more wood for a bed I'm building."

Caldwell nodded and followed John into the woods. The old, fallen grandfather was beginning to rot near the roots but there was still more than enough good wood near the top.

"Impressive," Caldwell said, looking along the length of the tree.

"Incredibly hard wood." John said ruefully. "I nearly killed myself getting the first chunk cut and back to the house."

Caldwell chuckled then moved into the position John indicated. "We can move what you need back with the rover," he said as they began to cut.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

They cut several long pieces out of the section and loaded them onto the sled. It wasn't until they were ready to drag them to the house that Caldwell spoke again. "Elizabeth told me what happened and told me she's been trying to get you to come back to Atlantis."

"Yeah."

"I wasn't there, so I can't know the full story. Just... just don't let her or the SGC railroad you. Over the last few years you've become one of the finest strategists I've ever met, with an ability to think on your feet that I wish I'd had when I was your age. But a lot of that's mainly because you didn't let them fuck with you, mold you into what they wanted." Caldwell made a frustrated noise as he tightened the rope to the bumper of the vehicle. He didn't look at John. "If this is where you want to be, then stick to your guns."

John was speechless. He wanted to say it _wasn't_ where he wanted to be, but he suspected Caldwell knew that.

(He remembered being rescued with Caldwell after almost ten days of deprivation and torture. He remembered Caldwell probably saw a hug that was more like an embrace and probably went on a bit too long. While recovering in the infirmary, he might have seen a kiss stolen from John, heedless of who might have been watching. John's opinion of Caldwell had risen even higher when the man had said absolutely nothing about anything he might have -- or might not have -- seen.)

Instead of replying, John simply nodded and got back to work.

* * *

Radek came back as fall was settling in and brought more gifts -- more food, oil, tools, books and glass picture frames.

"Elizabeth couldn't keep her mouth shut," John said, shaking his head.

Radek smiled. "Pictures this beautiful should be preserved."

John was pleased when Radek opted to stay for a couple of days again. As they had the last time, they spoke late into the night about Earth and Radek's desire to stay in the Pegasus galaxy. Radek had been awarded a Nobel prize in physics and apparently it was assumed he'd return to Earth to get it. He was leery of returning because, as he told John, he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to return to Atlantis afterwards. John thought he was right to be nervous.

The bed had been easier to make than the table and far easier than the chairs, though that might have been due to John's skill level improving. It was a single bed, long and narrow. John gave it to Radek while he took his pallet out and slept under the stars that evening, something he did regularly anyway.

(The size and shape of John's new bed helped mitigate the times when he woke missing someone who should have been beside him and wasn't. And even on his new bed he still woke from nightmares nearly every night. In them, he heard Atlantis's alarm klaxon, heard the sound of screaming and fighting, heard Teyla asking for his forgiveness, heard one last word before the static of death: "John.") 

(Nothing could help the far worse dreams, the dreams of love and laughter, reminding him of happiness lost. He woke from those dreams with tears on his face and an ache consuming his entire body.)

The Athosians arrived the next day and greeted Radek warmly. There were no new names to add to the roll, the first time in something like ten years that had happened. John couldn't decide whether to be pleased or afraid of the other shoe dropping.

Radek had never seen the ceremony of the roll. John did as he had done since becoming the keeper -- he stood outside, under the stars, and recited the names of all those who had crossed over since the arrival of the Earth mission to Atlantis, beginning with Marshall Sumner's name. (John had Sumner's dogtags, still; they hung from a peg in his bedroom.) Then the bonfire was lit and a lovely young Athosian woman sang the grief of passing.

Radek wept and John said nothing. He placed his hand on Radek's shoulder, though, letting him know he was not alone in his grief. 

Radek left the next day, but John saw him talking with Halling before he departed. The Athosians stayed one more night and Halling told John he would not be returning. "The joint sickness has grown  worse in me, and it is increasingly difficult for me to travel," Halling said, what sounded like genuine regret in his voice. "Jinto is nearly a man now, and he will be taking on many of my duties as leader of our people before I, too, cross the river."

John hardly knew what to say. Halling wasn't much older than him and shouldn't have to suffer. But there wouldn't be any new drugs coming to Pegasus from Earth, so Halling and others would have to do without. John settled for talking with Halling through the night and making plans to pass on the keeper of the roll duties to a younger generation.

* * *

The following fall, three years after his first visit, Ronon returned. He drove a vehicle that looked like nothing an Earthling would build, let alone drive. There was a woman with him, a tall woman with skin the color of coffee with cream and dark red hair. She was obviously pregnant; not huge, but getting there. "This is Umma, my wife," Ronon said to John, honest joy shining from his eyes.

John was shocked -- though he supposed he shouldn't be; why wouldn't everyone else be getting on with their lives? -- and so very pleased. They exchanged pleasantries, and as John led them into his home, he realized he was jealous of Ronon's evident happiness. He tried to suppress it; Ronon deserved all the happiness he could get.

Umma gave John a gift, a small, delicate windchime. It sounded like the tinkling of tiny bells and John put it just to the side of his front door where the breeze made it sing quietly. "Thank you," he said, heartfelt words. 

"This place is too quiet," Ronon said.

Umma looked at him incredulously then both she and John burst out laughing. Ronon scowled at them, but the effect was ruined by the grin that broke through.

John's laughter died out as he heard he chimes ring. Ronon was right, it was too quiet. He'd been used to the sound of voices, of one in particular and of the constant murmur of Atlantis; he thought silence could replace it but it hadn't. The chimes helped fill the gaping absence.

They sat in John's house and both Ronon and Umma admired the furniture John had built and the drawings he'd made. Ronon lingered over the one of Teyla, which hung in its frame in John's main room. Umma stood next to him. "This is Teyla Emmagan, I think. Yes?"

"Yeah." Ronon's voice was suspiciously thick. "It's good."

"Thanks." John joined them in looking at the portrait.

Ronon looked around with a frown. "But you haven't done one of--" he began but Umma cut him off, putting a hand on his arm.

"Ronon." He glanced at her in confusion and she shook her head. "Ronon has told me a lot about you and his old team," Umma said to John. Her voice was soft and gentle. "I am most sorry for your loss."

Direct and to the point -- Umma was so much like Ronon. The honest sadness in her eyes nearly undid John. "Thank you."

Ronon broke the silence a moment later. "Where'd you get the wood?" he asked, and John led him outside, to the trees.

By the end of the day, Ronon had helped John cut another section of the old tree, just for the hell of it, since John didn't really need any more. Umma cooked for them, once John showed her where his stores were, so he and Ronon could play with John's tools. At dinner, the men amused her with stories from their adventures, Ronon laughing loud and long at times. It should have cheered John, and it did, but it also filled him with soft regret.

Umma cleared and washed as well, over John's objections. "Soon enough I'll have two babies to care for, rather than the one I have now." She gave Ronon a sly look. "I can use the practice. Shoo!"

John gave in -- Umma seemed just as stubborn as Ronon. He wondered briefly who would be the head of that family and had to hide his grin. He and Ronon went outside and in the dark, the stars seemed very close.

"Are you happy, Sheppard?" Ronon suddenly asked.

It was too dark to make out faces clearly, something John was grateful for. "No," he said softly.

Ronon was quiet for a long moment before asking, "Then, are you content?"

John thought about it for a while. He sighed. "As much as I can be, I guess," he replied.

They walked in the cool darkness, the stones and leaves of John's front yard crunching under their feet until Ronon stopped walking. "I spent seven years running," Ronon said quietly. John stopped and turned towards him. "Then six years fighting. I was pretty sure I'd die before finding my happiness." The dim oval that was Ronon's face turned toward John's home. "Then happiness found me. Just like it..."

Ronon trailed off but John knew what he was saying. "Just like it found me," he whispered.

"I think..." Ronon's voice was very soft. "I think when you find happiness, you have to... I don't know." He stopped and seemed to be searching for the right words. "Grab onto it and not let go?" They began walking again, slowly. "Here, we've known that because of the Wraith. I don't think you Earthers know how to do that. I'm not sure you ever got the lesson."

John had had seven years; two of a growing attraction and five of some of the happiest and most frightening times in his life. No, it wasn't as good as it could have been, but stolen happiness was still happiness. He sometimes thought he'd sell his soul for just one more happy year, but the pragmatist in him knew it would never be enough. Eternity wouldn't have been enough.

"Some of us do," he finally murmured.

Ronon and Umma stayed three days, telling John they were waiting for something but wouldn't say what. They'd brought a large tent with them and slept outside, though Umma was pleased to use John's bathing room. On their last day, the Athosians came and brought Radek with them. Jinto (who was almost as tall as his father) had brought Wex along as well, someone John hadn't seen in years.

Radek embraced both John and Umma, whom he knew and John realized what was going on -- Radek was planning a defection to Elanis and was trying to keep it quiet. John approved and said as much.

"We are no longer of Earth," Radek replied sadly. "Others are coming with me, some to other worlds. We do not wish the SGC to find us, so it necessitates deception." He gave John a look and added, "Elizabeth is helping us all she can, but she will not stay here. She will go back to Earth, in the end."

There was only one name to add to the roll and Radek had brought it: Carson Beckett. "He was working in Eritrea, trying to help the orphaned children," Radek said. "No one is quite sure what happened, but it didn't look like he was attacked, so we don't think he was killed deliberately. One of his colleagues said he worked himself to death. I think it might have been the only way he could have killed himself." Radek sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

John prided himself for never hesitating over any name on the roll (though the Athosians would hardly condemn him if he did). Adding Carson's name... the patient, good-hearted doctor did not deserve what had happened to him, what the SGC had ordered him to do.

To John's surprise, Umma added her voice to that of the Athosian girl who sang the dead beyond the river. She had a clear, beautiful voice and that, along with Carson's name added to the roll, broke John's heart along the fault lines laid from previous damage. Radek and Ronon were there for him; to prop him up, to hold him, his friends providing stability until he could find his strength again.

Much later in the evening, Jinto told John that Wex had requested the job of keeper of the roll after John. John wasn't particularly happy about it.

"Wex, you're so young and the life here is harsh and lonely..."

"I know," Wex replied with a smile. "The Ancestors came to me in a dream, told me I would be called soon. This life would suit me."

Even later, in private, Jinto told John that Wex had always been a loner, Jinto his only friend. He was shy and had never liked being around groups of people. Something of a misfit himself, John could relate and while it eased his mind somewhat, he still worried. Jinto promised to continue to be Wex's friend and seemed to understand John's reticence.

Ronon and Umma left the next morning with Radek. John got a bear hug from Ronon and a more careful one from Umma. "Come back with the baby," John surprised himself by saying.

"We will," Umma promised. She kissed his cheek and they left. 

The Athosians would be leaving in two days, meeting Radek at the gate so it would appear he was still with them. John spent the time bringing in the last of his harvest and drilling Wex on the roll. Sometimes, John thought the whole thing should be written down, in a more permanent, more complete way. Then he would remember the Hoffans, the Genii, the Athosians, all the others he'd met and decide not to. If he'd learned anything in Pegasus, it was nothing was permanent but love and regrets.

* * *

Elizabeth didn't visit him at all the next year. Radek did, however, off and on, as he could. He told John things on Atlantis were becoming even less stable. The SGC was torn with in-fighting as the war dragged on. All projects were undergoing painful reorganization and personnel were defecting in droves -- Radek was only staying on to make sure everyone escaped and to finish a few projects of his own. Then one day, close to the end of the following summer, John heard the familiar sound of the vehicle from Atlantis.

Elizabeth looked exhausted. There was almost as much silver as brown in her hair and her face was haggard. "Stephen is dead," she said by way of greeting. She hadn't visited in two years; it was now almost six years past the final extermination, the xenocide for which John Sheppard would forever atone.

After a moment, John broke his long-standing rule and pulled her in for a tight hug. He felt her shoulders shaking but when she pulled back, her face was dry.

"I'll add his name to the roll," John murmured.

She looked momentarily startled then gave him a weak smile. "Thank you."

They sat inside in deference to the late summer heat. "What happened?"

"The war." She took a sip of the tea he'd offered. "It's not going well. In fact, this will be my last visit. I'm being recalled and the Atlantis project is to be shut down. There's only a skeleton crew there anyway. Radek has gone to Elanis, I think; he took one of the full ZPMs and a few other things which were _somehow_ left off the manifest." She looked fiercely pleased at her deception as she spoke.

"Shut down." It didn't surprise him. "When?"

"Now, actually. We're preparing to evacuate and taking the rest of the ZPMs with us. Atlantis will be left alone again. There's nothing left for the SGC to plunder, and the city refuses to cooperate with any other person, the way it worked with you. You and..."

"Are you locking her down?"

"No." Elizabeth wouldn't meet his eyes. Her fingers traced a whorl in the grain of the wood of the table. "Though we're restricting who can dial its gate. This gate, here, can, though the SGC doesn't know it. Jinto said he'd see to it the DHD was secured on his next visit, just in case."

John nodded.

"Come back with me," Elizabeth whispered.

She still wouldn't meet his eyes, which told him she knew what his answer would be. "No, Elizabeth. I'm sorry."

There wasn't anything left to say between them. She had a small pouch filled with mementos she wanted him to keep, then she hugged him tightly and left.

Elizabeth wasn't the only one whose hair was turning -- there was a lot of gray in John's hair, too. At least he assumed there was, from looking at the pile when he hacked it short with his knife, something he only did when it started flopping in his eyes. The only mirror he had in his home was a small, polished copper one he used to help him shave. There was no need for any other. He knew what he looked like.

Every year, when his clock showed a particular date, John slept outside, under the stars. Every year, he talked to a presence that wasn't there. Every year, he started out saying the same words. 

"I miss you." His voice was low, not meant to carry. In one hand, through his shirt, he held his dog tags. One of the set of two was engraved with a name not his own. "I'm sorry I never told you, sorry I wasn't brave enough to give you the words, but I love you. Still."

Outside, in the perfect darkness, everything seemed so close he liked to think he could reach out and touch eternity. "It was supposed to be me, not you. I was never supposed to grow old -- that was for you to do without me. You would have carried on, made a life for yourself, managed to find happiness. You were the one who could teach, who could live and make the galaxy live for you and others. I was made for one purpose -- to kill. Once I did..." The bright stars above him swam in the tears of his eyes.  "I have no purpose left. Not without you. Atlantis killed you as surely as I killed Wraith and I can't be with her carrying that knowledge."

In Ottawa, there is a headstone which stands guard over an empty grave. John's never been there, but Radek had given him a picture. He looked at it, occasionally, but it meant nothing. There's no place, especially not Atlantis, for him to go to mourn so his last home is as good a place as any. "The only good thing is that at least I won't have to be alone much longer. Damned Genii and their piss-poor shielding... You were right about that. You were right about a lot of things, but don't let it go to your head. You still messed up at times." His smile was a sad one and he wished he could hear a response to his words. 

"Radek was here last month. He gave me a funny look and asked me if I was losing weight. And I am, my clothes just hang on me and I keep getting so tired. So I figure it's got me at last, after what, thirteen or fourteen years of off-again on-again exposure? Still pretty fast. I found a lump under my arm earlier this year and it's just getting bigger as I get weaker. I'm pretty sure it's cancer. So that's good. I just have to pass on the roll, and I can be done, finally."

Jinto and Wex would be returning with his harvest, and John was pretty sure he'd be able to last that long -- it might be two years, even, though he doubted it. Then Wex would take over as keeper of the roll, and his body... "I thought a long time how I want to... to be disposed of. Jinto is going to put my body in the stargate flashback as he dials Atlantis. That'll do it." With one finger, he could trace a line of stars to the one he thought might be Atlantis', but he won't. 

Next to him, along the shady side of his house, a weed has grown, the Athosian flower-of-mourning. It's a pretty flower on a climbing vine, hardy and self-seeding like mad. It reminded him a bit of a Texas bluebell. At night, the scent of it was beautiful. "You'd hate it here," he whispered. "It's boring and dull as dirt. Hot in the summer, cold in the winter and you can't even surf. There isn't even any electricity for your laptops." His voice was barely audible when he continued. "It could have been a perfect place for us to grow old, together."

The sound of distant bells and the scent of a flower followed him into sleep.

end


End file.
